The Benders by Katie French

opens her mouth to speak, stops, and opens it again.
    Finally she locks me with a serious gaze. “Whatever your mother was going to do to you has already been done.”
    ***
    Time passes. Hours probably, maybe a whole day. No one comes. The beef Betsy shoved in my gob fills my stomach for a while, but that soon grows empty. I figure the bag on the pole is pumpin’ some kind of nutrients in me ’cause I don’t feel thirsty or all that hungry, either. For hours I need to piss something awful. When I finally let loose, there’s no warm puddle around my arse. Instead yellow urine runs from a tube that snakes from under the blanket into a bag by the side of the bed. The thought of a tube shoved into my pecker makes me blanch. The thought of my mother doin’ it makes me want to vomit.
    Goddamn Nessa.
    I faze in and out of consciousness even though I don’t wanna miss someone comin’ in. My lids are heavy and I wonder if it’s from the liquid runnin’ into my veins. When I’m not asleep, I think about how they dragged Riley away. How she begged me to fight and I didn’t. If those were our last moments together—me givin’ in and handin’ her over to God knows who—I could strangle myself with my piss tube. Why didn’t I fight when I had the chance? Sure, we were outnumbered and outgunned. Sure, we’d probably be dead right now, but I’d promised her it would be okay. I’m supposed to be the man. I’m supposed to take care of her. Anger pulses at my throat until I think I could scream. Maybe I should. Maybe someone would come, even if it was a guard. Even if it’s Betsy with her fumblin’ hands and suction cup mouth. Being here is messin’ with my head.
    When the lock tumbles again, Nessa walks through the door, lookin’ fresh in a white lab coat and a slicked-back bun. Her face curls into that dangerous smile when she sees me.
    “Up, I see.” She pushes buttons on the monitor above my head. “How’s the patient feeling?”
    “Let me outta here, you maniac.” I lean up against my bonds. “Let me up so I can strangle you.”
    “Feeling well, then?” she asks, amused. Her hands curl around the piss bag and she examines it.
    “Why am I here? What’d you do to me?” I hiss. My anger’s bigger than ever. I wanna throw myself against the bonds, but I know this would please her immensely. “Why won’t you let me up?”
    “If you struggle,” she says, droppin’ the urine bag, “I’ll sedate you again.”
    I lie back on the bed, seething. “If you sedate me again, I’ll kill you.”
    “Clay,” she says, “You’ve threatened to kill me multiple times in the last twenty-four hours. Do I look scared, darling?”
    I narrow my eyes.
    “Now, listen.” She clasps her hands behind her back, smug and superior. “I want us to start over. I’ve even given you a gift to prove I’m sorry for how things have developed. If you’ll calm down, I’ll show you.”
    I frown.
    She walks over and tugs back the blanket on my chest, revealin’ my light-blue hospital gown. The strap across my chest and the other one across my arms are yellow and very tight. She pulls the blanket back further and reveals my injured right hand, now bandaged in white gauze.
    Panic blares in my head again at the sight of my freshly bandaged hand. “What’d you do to me?”
    “Don’t try to move it right now. It’s still healing.” She leans down and looks at the bandage. “I’m going to undo the strap on your arm to show you something. If you try to hurt me,”—she points to the open door— “Michael, will stop you. It won’t be nice. Understand?”
    I nod, desperate to see what she did to my hand. If she’s mangled it or made it even more useless, I don’t know what I’ll do. Sure, it couldn’t grip and was clunky and slow, but at least I could hold my pecker or shave my chin. She undoes the strap on my arm and begins to unwrap the gauze.
    When all five of my digits appear beneath the gauze wrap, relief trickles